‘It’s not just a cat,’ I say, with a quiver in my voice. ‘How can you say that? I loved him.’
Liam’s eyes turn steely, but then he nods and forces a smile. He puts his spare arm around me. ‘Of course. He wasn’t just a cat. But we’ve got Isis.’
I know that’s true, and I love Isis; in truth she’s become more my dog than Liam’s, as I’m the one who walks her and pets her and feeds her.
We bury the cat in the back garden, and Liam even says a prayer aloud over the grave. I take his arm and we walk back inside.
Smoke wafts in the kitchen and the smoke alarm starts to blare. I forgot the salmon in the oven. Oh my god. I rush to take it out, bursting into tears again. When I place the blackened mess on the counter, Liam takes one look and then glares at me. ‘Now what am I meant to eat?’
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ll make something else.’ I’m flustered, unsure why he’s so angry at me. It’s hardly my fault I forgot; I was upset about Tiger. As I move around the kitchen, trying to rustle up a replacement meal, Liam yells at me. I can feel myself flinching under his words, thrown back to being a child listening to my father bellowing at my mother.
‘You’re useless,’ he spits. ‘I’ve been working hard all day.’
‘So have I,’ I mumble under my breath.
‘What did you say?’ he asks furiously, rounding on me.
I shake my head. ‘Nothing. How about a pizza?’ I pull one out of the freezer.
‘My god,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘You care more about that damn cat than you do about me.’
‘That’s not true,’ I argue, trying to placate him. ‘I’m just tired and upset. I was trying to think of something that would be quick and easy, but I can make you whatever you like. How about spaghetti bolognese?’ I ask, knowing it’s one of his favourites.
‘Fine,’ he replies, begrudgingly.
Later, in bed, he holds me and kisses me and tells me he’s just stressed, and he didn’t mean to shout at me. I tell him I understand. I’ve come to learn that Liam is triggered whenever he feels love being withheld. I reassure him that I love him more than anyone in the world and I won’t ever leave him or betray him, soothing him like an anxious child.
He doesn’t believe me at first and when, exhausted by the long day and wanting to sleep, I ask him what I need to do to make him believe me, he tells me that he needs me to be more demonstrative. I thought that I was, but I agree to make more of an effort.
‘You’re always spending time with your mum, rather than me,’ he complains.
‘She’s sick,’ I tell him. ‘You know she needs me. And I’ve hardly spent any time with her,’ I say. ‘I haven’t seen her in almost two weeks.’
‘I need you,’ he argues.
I stroke his hair. ‘I know,’ I tell him. ‘And I’m here for you. But my mum does need my help. I need to take her to her appointments. She can’t go alone. And she’s still getting over her last bout of chemo.’
Liam says nothing but I can hear his teeth clenching against each other. It’s hard for him to understand the bond I have with my mum and he gets impatient whenever we have to go over there, and then he’ll often make an excuse as to why we have to leave almost immediately. It’s strange, because my mum loves him and she’s kind to him. I haven’t told her about the arguments we have, because I don’t want her to worry. She’s so excited by the thought I’ve found love and the prospect that we might get married, and I don’t want to let her down or disappoint her. And I don’t want to disappoint Liam either.
‘I love you so much,’ Liam whispers, clutching me tight. ‘I don’t ever want to lose you.’
‘You won’t,’ I assure him, melting a little at the little boy lost in him and how much he obviously needs me.
Before we drift off to sleep, I think again about raising the issue of the rent and the bills, but it doesn’t feel like the right time. I brought it up with him a few weeks ago, but before he could answer a text came in from work and he had to leave. He was gone for more than twenty-four hours – working a double shift – and when he came back, he brought me flowers and took me straight to bed.
*
The next day at work, I’m deep in thought, trying to puzzle out all the issues that Liam and I seem to be facing. I’m exhausted from so little sleep. Often I have to soothe his anxieties long into the night, and it’s starting to have an impact on my health. I have dark circles under my eyes. Earlier Sonia joked that I must be having a lot of sex to be looking so tired, and I smiled wanly at her but wasn’t able to reply.
I want to ask her advice on how to talk to Liam and whether it’s normal for men to be so possessive and want to know where you are all the time. I don’t have much of a frame of reference, given my past relationships, but I’m too embarrassed. Besides, Sonia’s been cool with me of late; she’s stopped inviting me to the pub. I suppose I told her no too many times.
So preoccupied am I with thinking about Tiger and the argument Liam and I had, that I make a near-fatal error at work. I give a dog who’s in for a standard teeth-cleaning procedure too much of the drug I’m asked to administer. The dog very nearly dies, and I run in panic from the room, after Doug shouts at me. I hyperventilate in the kitchen, tears pouring down my face. I’ve never made a mistake like that before. I’m always so careful. I think of what could have happened – of having to explain to the owner their pet died on the operating table – and I’m grateful Doug was able to step in and save her.
When he comes to find me ten minutes later, he puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry I yelled,’ he says. I flinch, reminded of Liam saying the exact same thing.
‘What’s going on with you, Laura?’ Doug asks. ‘You seem distracted.’
I swallow away the lump in my throat and shake my head. ‘I’m fine. I’m just a little tired,’ I say, unable to meet his eye.
‘Really?’ he asks. ‘You seem very stressed these days.’
I nod, my stomach folding into knots.
‘Is it your mother?’ he asks, sympathetically.
I shake my head. ‘She’s doing OK, actually. The doctors say she looks like she’s going to beat it.’
‘That’s great,’ Doug says. ‘I’m glad. If you need to take some time off, though, for whatever reason, let me know. We all value you here; you’re a great colleague and good at your job, but we can’t have mistakes like that one again.’
I nod again, grateful that I’m not being fired.
‘I am going to have to write this up,’ Doug says, grimacing apologetically. ‘For the other partners. It’s part of the surgery’s policy whenever there’s a critical error.’
My stomach knots itself even tighter and I bite my lip extra hard to stop from crying. ‘I understand,’ I tell him, looking at the floor.
He doesn’t say it in as many words, but he means I’m on probation. If I make another mistake, they’ll definitely fire me. The thought of that is overwhelming. What would I do without my job?
‘Why don’t you take the rest of the day off and go home and get some sleep?’ Doug suggests.
I thank him and grab my things and leave. The shame is a black hole inside my chest. My face burns. I don’t want to go home. All I want is my mum, so I head to her place. I need to confide in someone and I know she’s the only person who can make me feel better.
‘What’s happened?’ she asks, as soon as she sees me.
‘I just messed up at work. They could have fired me,’ I sob, as I fall into her arms.
‘Ahh, there, pet,’ she says, stroking my hair and pulling me inside. ‘I’m sure it’s just a mistake and it’ll all be OK.’
I follow her into the kitchen. She puts the kettle on, but I tell her to her sit down and I make the tea, feeling the weight of weeks of stress fall from my shoulders just by being with her in the home I know so well, just us two, even though guilt is eating me up at how long I’ve been away. It feels safe here. It feels more like home than my own place, and that makes me sad.
‘I wish I still lived here,’ I blurt.
‘Why?’ my mum asks. ‘Aren’t things good with Liam? I thought you were happy he moved in?’
‘I am,’ I reassure her. I pause. I want to admit to her that things aren’t going well, but it feels like failure, and she looks so tired that I don’t want to trouble her. I smile. ‘Things are great. I just miss you, that’s all. I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you.’
I pour the hot water into the mugs.
‘It’s OK, I know you’re busy,’ she says with forced happiness, but I can tell she’s disappointed.
‘Liam’s had so much on; and there was all the unpacking.’ That’s actually a lie. Liam only brought one bag of clothes, and no personal items or furniture either. He left it all with his ex – he says he couldn’t stand seeing anything that they’d once shared.
My mum nods, understandingly. ‘Shall we watch some Bake Off?’ she asks as I hand her a cup of tea.
I say yes, even though I’m watching the new series with Liam and he’ll be upset if he knows I’ve watched it without him. But he won’t find out. It was a tradition with my mum anyway, even before I met him.
We sit down on the sofa and my mum takes my hand and squeezes it. I squeeze it back and rest my head on her shoulder. ‘Why did you stay with Dad?’ I ask her, as she rummages for the remote.
She looks at me askance, frowning. ‘Why do you ask that?’
I shrug, drinking my tea. ‘I just wondered.’
She sighs. ‘I shouldn’t have. I was an idiot. I thought he loved me and if I just loved him enough, in the right way, that he’d be fixed. But it wasn’t about me. He just wasn’t capable of loving anyone. He didn’t know how. He was an angry man, your father.’
I swallow hard.
‘I should have left,’ she says with a sad sigh. ‘I shouldn’t have let him treat me or you the way he did.’ She smiles at me, her eyes welling up. ‘I’m sorry. It’s my biggest regret.’
My chin wobbles.
‘What’s the matter, love?’ she asks, anxious.
I think of opening up and telling her, but the thought of disappointing her is too much. ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I just feel sad. Probably that time of the month. It’s nothing.’
She turns on the TV and flips to the Great British Bake Off.
*
I make it home at the same time I would normally return from work and find Liam already back. ‘Oh,’ I say, surprised, as a feeling of dread sweeps over me. ‘You’re home early.’
As I put the keys down on the plate by the front door, I sense the atmosphere. I’m attuned to it, like a barometer. My stomach flips and then tightens; my spine stiffens.
‘I wasn’t feeling well,’ he says. ‘Came home early.’
‘Oh no,’ I say lightly, injecting extra concern into my voice. ‘What’s the matter? What can I get you?’
‘Where were you?’ he barks.
I shake my head and let out a little laugh. ‘I was at work.’
‘No, you weren’t.’
Shit.
‘I went by to pick you up and you weren’t there,’ he snaps. ‘They said you left early. Where did you go?’
I swallow, my gut writhing with anxiety. ‘I went to my mum’s to check up on her.’
He looks at me. ‘Liar.’
I take a step back, shocked at the venom in his voice. ‘I’m not lying,’ I stammer. ‘Call her if you don’t believe me.’
He comes at me so fast I don’t even have time to let out a scream of fright. His hand is around my neck, making me gasp.
‘You lying bitch. Who were you with?’ he growls savagely in my face.
‘My mum,’ I sob.
The punch to my stomach comes so suddenly that I fold double, seeing stars, pain exploding throughout my body.
He pulls me by my hair so I’m standing tall, winded and unable to breathe.
‘Go and make me a cup of tea.’
I drag myself into the kitchen and start making tea, bent over and shaking like an old lady.
Later, in bed, he rolls over and holds me. I stifle a moan, and he shushes me and strokes my hair.
‘I’m sorry, my angel,’ he says. ‘You just made me so angry,’ he whispers in my hear.
I nod meekly against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper.
He lifts my chin with his finger and looks me in the eye, his expression so full of love and adoration.
‘Marry me,’ he says.
I’m stunned speechless. I look down and see he’s holding a huge diamond ring in his hand. I look back at his face. He’s smiling, his eyes filled with hope.
‘Yes,’ I tell him.
*
We organise the wedding in less than three weeks. I have fully convinced myself that the punch was a one-off event and I vow to do better and not trigger him again.
I am swept up in the excitement, though I keep it from my colleagues; I even take off my engagement ring when I go to work, aware that they’ll think I’m rushing into things. Liam wants it to be a private affair and I agree. It’s more romantic this way – like an elopement – which he suggested, but I refused. I couldn’t do it to my mum; she’d be broken-hearted if she didn’t get to see her only daughter walk down the aisle.
I’ve never seen her so happy before. She’s glowing with the news of the big day; you’d think she was the one getting married. She helps me choose a dress, something I barely ever imagined doing. It’s fairytale-like: simple and white and elegant, with a high neck and a lace veil, almost 1940s in style. I know Liam will like it as it’s modest and timeless.
We get married at a registry office. Liam slides the ring onto my finger and tells me that he will love, honour and cherish me until death do us part. I do the same, adding in the traditional ‘obey’ because he asked me to, telling me that he was a traditional guy. After the ceremony, which is shorter than I’d expected it to be, I get changed into another dress – more casual – and we have lunch at a local gastropub. Liam gives a toast and we drink champagne and eat scallops wrapped in prosciutto. Liam keeps leaning across the table to kiss me and my mum keeps taking photographs, having put on the hat of official wedding photographer after we decided not to waste money on one.
My mum weeps when we head off hand in hand after the meal. We need to get home to get ready for our early morning flight to Greece the next day. She kisses me on the cheek and tells me she loves me and is proud of me and that she can’t believe I’m a married woman. Neither can I. I keep looking down at the gold ring on my finger, marvelling at it.
‘See you when you get back,’ she tells us, giving Liam a big hug. ‘Have a wonderful honeymoon.’
It’s the last time I ever saw her.
On the way to the airport the next day I get a call. My mum has fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. She’s dead.
I cannot believe it. To have come through cancer, to be almost in the clear, and for this to happen. It’s too much to take on board, and for days I’m in denial and then just angry. Eventually the anger fades to sadness.
‘It’s OK,’ Liam says, hugging me on the day of the funeral. ‘I’m here. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.’
If only he’d fixed the carpet, I think to myself. She wouldn’t have tripped. She’d still be alive. The thought percolates in my mind and I keep thinking about how if Liam hadn’t been in such a hurry to install those security cameras, he could have fixed the carpet like he promised, and my mum would still be here.
I turn into a walking zombie. I cannot eat, sleep or do anything. Liam lets me stay in bed for two weeks ‘moping’, as he calls it, but then he starts getting impatient. ‘Cheer up,’ he tells me. ‘You’re so goddamn miserable all the time.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble, blowing my nose.
‘If anyone should be upset,’ he goes on, ‘it’s me – I had to cancel the honeymoon. I lost a load of money.’
‘Why didn’t you fix the carpet?’ I blurt, unable to keep it in any
longer.
He turns and looks at me, blinking a few times. ‘What did you say?’ he asks.
‘If you’d fixed the carpet, she’d still be alive,’ I say, my lip quivering.
It’s like being at the epicentre of a bomb blast. Punches land on my body, and then kicks after he lets go of my throat and I sink gasping to the floor. Finally, starlight bursting at the edges of my vision, it all fades to black.
*
Liam left me on the floor and went out for the rest of the night, returning at dawn. He found me on the sofa, where I’d managed to drag myself in the middle of the night when I regained consciousness. He asked me why I wasn’t in bed, and then what was for breakfast.
I walked into the kitchen without a word, wondering who I’d become in the space of a night. I felt like I was sleepwalking, like I was watching myself, unable to fully believe the situation I was in. The voice in my head was urging me to do something – to get the hell out of there – but I knew I wouldn’t. I had no control over my own decisions any more.
‘I’ll stay home too today,’ Liam told me. ‘I’ll take care of you.’ He came up behind me and my body went into a state of panic, freezing, heart pounding, a trickle of sweat rolling down my spine as he put his hands on my shoulders.
I managed another nod, a sob building in my chest that I knew I had to hold on to and not let escape. If I tried to leave, what would he do? It would only make him angry if he thought I was abandoning him. And we’re married; I can’t just leave him.
Liam calls in to work for me and tells them I have flu. My head throbs like it’s clamped in a vice. Every breath causes a spear of pain to shoot through my chest and I wonder if I’ve broken a rib or two. Black and blue bruises blot my skin like ink stains. When I look in the mirror, I am shocked at the stranger staring back. If I told someone I’d been in a head-on collision with a lorry they’d believe me.
My bruises are slow to heal, especially the ones on my face, so Liam keeps calling into the surgery to tell them I’m still sick. I stay in bed each day until I have to drag myself up to make dinner. When I sit down with him to eat one night, he pulls away my plate before I can take a bite. ‘I don’t think you need that,’ he tells me. ‘Maybe it’s time you tried that diet you’ve been on about.’
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